


Across Time and The Universe

by MerMagicAnaLily



Category: Andi Mack (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, History, M/M, Reincarnation AU, Soulmate AU, Themes of Slavery mentioned, finding each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-10-13 20:55:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20588957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerMagicAnaLily/pseuds/MerMagicAnaLily
Summary: Two people, always a T.J. and a C. were meant to find each other. Each time they’ll keep finding each other. They’ll never stop, and they’ll always fall fiercely in love, as they were always meant to.





	1. Ancient Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> And yet another series from me? Will there ever be too many? Who knows? As always, please comment if you read this at all!! Please! Kudos are not an accurate way of me being able to tell who’s reading and how many! Comments are the only way. Plus, they warm my cold little heart, dead from the lack of Andi Mack on T.V. And try to guess when and where T.J. and C. will meet next! Who knows? You might be right, or inspire me to add another place on the list!!!

The sixteen year old noble boy was known for being tall, handsome, and athletic, the son of the high priest and soon would inherit the most riches, second only to Pharaoh, but the amount of gold didn’t matter to him. He could have piles, mountains even, of sparkling objects in front of him, but his eyes zeroed in on the new Israelite boy, no older than he was, his father bought for his mother to help around the house. He knew from all that he was taught that the boy was inferior, just a slave, but something about him kept drawing him in. 

“Brother, you shouldn’t be staring at him,” Ata, the young noble woman only a year older than Tunar-Ji himself. “Father bought him to help inside the house. He’s too pale and scrawny to survive a single summer in the fields. Besides, aren’t you planning on being a warrior?”

“A general,” he corrected her. “And I’m not *staring* at him,” he said. “I’m simply memorizing his features so that I don’t accidentally attack him if I wake up in the middle of the night and he’s doing his chores.”

“If you want to fool yourself,” she sighed. “If you’re going to memorize everything about him, you might want to start off with what name to call him. Simply saying ‘boy’ or ‘slave’ won’t narrow him down from the ten others we have inside the house alone,” she said and got up, leaving to do...whatever it is she enjoyed doing.

Tunar-Ji thought about what she said, about getting a name, and watched the Israelite boy scrub the floor of the entertaining room alone. He almost felt a strange urge to find a rag and help him, an urge he never felt before...he scowled and got up. “Slave, how do you identify yourself?” He called out. 

He looked up and Tunar-Ji had to stop himself from getting lost in his big brown eyes. He had to focus on something else...the nose. He kept his eyes firmly on the boy’s nose. “Does it really matter what name I am called?” He asked. “It’s a name your noble family will never call me. I’m forever ‘Slave’ or ‘boy’ based on who my mother and father are.”

“I didn’t chose your role in life, as I assume you did not either,” he argued back. “It was the role of the gods.” He swore he almost heard the brown-eyed boy mutter a singular “God,” under his breath, like he was correcting him. “And should we find a useful skill of yours, we’ll need to call out for you specifically. I could give you a name right here, but I don’t believe you’d respond to it.” 

“I don’t have a proper name, according to you noble ones,” he said. “So call me what you like.” 

Tunar-Ji pursed his lips. “What does your mother call you? Or your siblings if you have any?” 

He looked up, still on his hands and knees, but he stopped scrubbing for the moment. “I have no siblings, but my mother calls me Caleb, sir.”

“Caleb...do you have any skills?”

“Other than cleaning? No skills a slave like me ought to have.” 

“And what about a skill you shouldn’t have?” He said, cleverly picking up on his choice of words. Caleb thought but looked down. “I won’t send down any punishment on you for knowing a skill you learned before coming here.”

He sighed. “I learned how to read and write, my father was the slave of a scribe, so he taught me. And I’m also talented with arithmetic.”

“Literacy and arithmetic? What are you doing scrubbing floors?”

He shrugged. “Your mother said the floors were dirty and ordered me to scrub them clean. I didn’t think it would be right to question her.”

“I don’t think it’s right for rare talents to be wasted,” he said. “Keep working until I send for you. I’m working towards being a general, and I’ll need someone with your talents to scribe for me. Expect a new role by sundown.” 

He left, leaving Caleb puzzled but he wasn’t one to question people who could punish him harshly. But master Tunar-Ji kept to his word and by the end of the day, his rags were changed out for linens and his new cot was in the small closet in the noble boy’s room. Officially, he might still have belonged to the household, but in reality, Caleb now belonged to him. 

* * *

When they were eighteen, Caleb looked over the correspondence he was writing and reading between his master and various other nobles and soldiers, reading them. Since he was just below the prince in terms of status, and next in line should anything ever happen to the royal family, many families who wanted to gain status in Egypt tried to gain the favor of his household, and the best way to do that was to appease Tunar-Ji. 

“Caleb, send out a letter that if I see another slave girl sent to my front steps to be some sort of...what did that last guy call it?”

“Bed warmer...sir…” he winced at those words, and so did Tunar-Ji.

“Yeah...no more of those. Ata has nearly doubled in the amount of handmaidens who attend to her hand and foot,” he said. “Meanwhile none of them stick around me.”

“You know just as well as I do that some of them keep the role they would have had with you, just with your sister instead,” he said with a little giggle. 

The relationship between the two of them had evolved over the past two years. Caleb had always groveled at Tunar-Ji’s feet, like he was supposed to, and it always irked the back of the noble boy’s mind. He had no idea why until one day, Caleb let a snide remark slip while reading some correspondence. Caleb immediately started apologizing but Tunar-Ji stopped him and finally realized what he was missing, someone to be fully honest with him. It took several months for Caleb to lose his fear over being totally honest without receiving a punishment, but when he did, he noticed his master start to relax, losing a bit of the burden of authority he carried, and seeing him allow himself to relax more and act like a normal young man, someone who was still figuring himself out. 

“All of Egypt knows that well enough,” he laughed with Caleb. “But insist on no more slave girls. Even my sister cannot use them all.” 

“Should I chisel the message across the walls of your house?” Caleb joked. 

“I swear that’s the only way the majority of them would listen to me,” he said. 

“There’s also the matter of what most of these letters are about as well,” he said. “Since you’re a general and next in line for Pharaoh after the prince, many households are wondering when you’re going to begin selecting a wife?”

Tunar-Ji rolled his eyes. “I have no interest in having a wife.”

“Interest or not, you need one,” Caleb said, ignoring the strange feeling in his stomach as he said that. “A wife is the only way you’ll spread your legacy and continue your family name.” 

“An outdated ritual,” he scoffed. “I’m much happier on my own, with you as my friend by my side.” 

“Your friend and slave,” Caleb reminded him. “You only saw use in me when you selected me.”

“Not true!” He turned to look at him and got down on his knee to meet the sitting Caleb eye to eye. “I saw kinship. I looked for an excuse. Haven’t you ever questioned how many scribes sleep upstairs alongside their masters? And how many of them talk to their masters as frankly as you talk to me?’

“Then why am I still a slave?”

“You’re a slave only in name.”

“And status,” he said. “If you really thought of me as a friend, like I wish to think of you, why keep this status between us?”

“Because to free you means I’d have to banish you,” he said, looking down. “And I don’t think I could even think of being happy ever again if I didn’t have you by my side.”

Caleb was quiet, looking at him, then carefully, cautiously putting his hands on top of Tunar-Ji’s. “It’s hard for me to imagine a life without someone like you in it as well…” he said. He tried to ignore the flips his stomach was doing as he looked into the other’s eyes. Green was such an unusual eye color, he didn’t think he’d ever seen it before, but it suited him. It made him look regal. “Do you think of me as a slave?”

“I haven’t thought of you as one in over a year and a half,” he said. “You’re my friend, my scribe, the man I want by my side no matter what happens next.”

Caleb nodded. “And what will happen next? Selections for a wife? Because I’m not sure how much longer I can stave off all these noble families offering up their daughters to you. I may be a good scribe, but I cannot perform the miracle of your gods or mine,” he joked lightly. 

“I suppose you’re right,” he chuckled, but he let his hands linger with Caleb’s. “Tell them that I would like all of the daughters to have a letter of introduction of sorts. The daughters should dictate a letter themselves to their scribe and send it to me, and based on that...I’ll go from there.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Caleb said. “You can filter out potential matches from there.” Neither of them sounded excited as Cyrus dipped the brush in ink and got to work on the papyrus. 

* * *

By the age of twenty, Tunar-Ji was able to narrow down his potential future wives to two women: Iris and Kira. Kira seemed to share some interests with him, such as enjoying watching the local sports games and had the same ideas on how children should lead an active lifestyle along with vigorous studies, whereas Iris seemed to have a gentle personality and a sweet heart. He was particularly excited for neither of them, but he invited both to spend a week in his house to know them personally. He would send home the other woman with enough gold to add to her dowry and make her a fine match for any other noble boy. 

Ideally he would marry the one he connected with the most, but he knew he would really marry the one he tolerated the most. 

He found his answer three days in.

He and Kira seemed to be getting along quite well and he even had interesting discussions with her whenever he shared a meal with her, but she seemed to get almost too comfortable in his household, and would often glare at Caleb with disdain. Caleb, to all of his credit, stayed as friendly as he could towards the woman, but he enjoyed it much more whenever Iris was in the room, She always tried to include him in the conversations so that he felt like a person in a room rather than a part of the background, or a simple piece of furniture. 

But for Tunar-Ji, the line came when Kira came in with one unreasonable demand. “Upon our marriage,” she said. “I think you should sell your scribe slave to some other noble family.”

“Why do you say that about Caleb?”

“Your scribe is only good for his one role. A good slave knows many roles. Even our scribe will scrub the floors or make dinner whenever he doesn’t have correspondence to read or taxes to calculate,” she said. “That boy does nothing but...gossip. Doesn’t his people’s false god denounce such things?”

“Perhaps,” Tunar-Ji said. “But Caleb doesn’t gossip, but rather provide insight for me. A much more valuable skill than cooking or harvesting or scrubbing the floors,” he said. “I’ll have the other household slaves prepare your things for your journey back tomorrow, including the increase to your dowry for your time lost here.”

“What? You can’t send me home! All because I wanted one demand!” She screeched. “That’s unreasonable!” 

“It’s not because of having a demand,” he said. “You could have had a thousand demands I could have given in to. You could have negotiated another million things and I would have accepted. But you chose the one thing that was off the table. You wanted me to get rid of the person I put all my trust in for years. It’s narrow minded and short sighted for the wife of a general. But I’m sure a high priest will love you and provide all that you’ll need in your life.”

Caleb was just outside, smiling at the new development, when Iris passed by, hearing everything. 

“I suppose you’ll be my new mistress,” he said to her with a smile. 

“You seem pleased,” she said. “But...I’ll only be your mistress to the same extent that he, out there, is your master.” She gave him a knowing smile and went out to meet with Tunar-Ji.

* * *

WIthin a year, Iris and Tunar-Ji were married in a big celebration attended by both the pharaoh and the prince, who was preparing for his coronation to come within the next two or three years. At his wedding, he found that Kira was betrothed to a high priest and she genuinely seemed happier than she would have been with him, so he didn’t feel bad in the slightest. And the months that Iris spent in his house where both he and Caleb got to know her better, they found that they actually enjoyed her presence. She was smart, even knowing how to read and write herself, and a talented artist. She even knew a few other languages, and Caleb had the pleasure to teach her some Hebrew, trusting her to treat the language of his people with respect. 

But the third night after their wedding both of them lie in their bed staring up at the ceiling until she sighed and sat up. “When will you admit it Tunar-Ji?’

“When will I admit what?”

“When will you admit that you don’t want to share the marriage bed with me?”

“Iris,” he gently got up and touched her arm. “I told you, out of hundreds of letters…”

“Tunar-Ji,” she cut him off. “I do believe that out of all eligible girls, I was the one best suited for your needs,” she said. “But that doesn’t mean you have to want to share this bed with me. I don’t believe you want to share a marriage bed with a woman at all?”

“Iris? What are you implying? You can’t be thinking of going to one of the priests…”

“No, I’m not suggesting that,” she said. “But I do ask you remember that I’m smarter than what most men give women credit for. I rather enjoy being your companion, your friend, and I’ll happily play the role of your wife and have the required amount of children with you,” she said. “But I know I’ll be playing a role, because you don’t love me...and that’s okay, it really is.” 

“It...it is?”

“I don’t love you the way a wife should love her husband,” she said. “I don’t love anyone in that way, nor feel the same...attraction most do to people in wanting to share a bed. But I needed to get married just like you did, and I need to be a mother the same way you need to father children for your family name to continue. But...I ask that if you’re not honest with anyone else, even yourself, you’re honest with me.” She got out of the bed and got her dress on. “Besides, I know who you really want to share the bed with...to hold…” she looked at the curtain that formally separated his room with the small space Caleb had set up a bed. 

Tunar-Ji almost looked ashamed. “I’m sorry Iris...that you married...someone like me.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” she said. “Whether it’s multiple gods like what we believe, or just one…you didn’t choose who you were meant to love, just like I didn’t chose that I’m not meant to love anyone,” she said. “You can either live bitter and die bitter and have a sour afterlife, or you can ignore the arrows the living mortals fling on you and live your life to be happy.” She kissed his cheek in a friendly, affectionate way. “Go talk to him. I’m going to sleep the rest of the night in the room next door.” She sat up from the bed and left, closing the door behind her. 

Tunar-Ji sighed and looked at the thin linen curtain separating the two rooms. “I know you’re awake Caleb...you can never sleep if there’s even the smallest sound.” He heard a small sigh from the other room. “Won’t you come in here to talk to me? A curtain isn’t nearly as easy to talk to as your face.”

The curtain opened slightly and Caleb stumbled into the room. “I didn’t mean to overhear...it’s just..there’s not much to block out any sound...which on one hand I’m a little glad that the conversation there happened and not...you know..the alternative…” 

“Caleb,” he cut him off before he went into one of his famous rambles. “Iris was right...there is someone else I would rather have in my bed.”

“Do I know her?” He asked, quietly. “It wouldn’t be any of the slave girls, would it?”

“It is a slave,” he said. “Which is one reason that the love can never be public…” Caleb looked down but Tunar-Ji continued. “The other reason the love cannot be public is because it’s a man…” Caleb’s head snapped up. “And my closest friend…”

“Y..you cannot mean me…?”

“I do...and...would you please come here?” 

“Bu-but…” 

“If you don’t share these feelings I understand,” he said sadly. “Please go back to your bed...ignore everything I’ve ever said...and just go back to being my friend please?”

Caleb was by his side before another word could be uttered. “I’ve felt like this for too long, I just never dared say anything. The stakes...if you didn’t love me back…”

“But I do love you back,” he stood up and touched Caleb’s cheek. “More than you understand...since I first saw you scrubbing my floors and I had to know your name...I needed an excuse to talk to you…”

“But this love...it’s doomed. It can never be public…”

“Screw the public,” he said, and he laced his fingers of his free hand with Caleb’s. “The public doesn’t matter in the affairs of the heart. Only the higher powers can decide on our hearts.”

Caleb looked down at their hands and his other hand reached up to tough the hand currently on his cheek, then he took a deep breath and leaned in to kiss Tunar-Ji...the man he loved since he was a sixteen year old boy. 

They both closed their eyes and leaned into the kiss. It was like quenching a thirst they never knew existed and as they went into the bed together for the first night of until the rest of their lives, they knew they never wanted to be thirsty like that again. 

* * *

Their dark hairs had long gone and they were old men. All of the general’s children had grown and found lives for themselves, and Iris had even passed away months earlier. Caleb held the hand of the love of his life and knew that he wasn’t going to be on this world for much longer. And though he didn’t dare speak it, Caleb had no intentions of staying in the world for much longer after he was gone. The instant he would gone, the secret status he held would be too, and he would be an old slave, forced to go back into a life of imprisonment and a lack of the special kind of freedom he knew. 

“Caleb...my love…”

“Tunar-Ji...you need to rest...conserve your energy.”

“Damn this energy...it will be wasted if I don’t use it now,” he said. “I just want you to know that all these years we spent together, I’d never ask for a second back...only a second longer...moments longer, and I only wish I had met you years earlier…”

“I do too,” he said. “I must be the luckiest Israelite born...no...I think I’m the luckiest man born, that I got to spend my life in your arms.”

Tunar-Ji squeezed his hand weakly. “Do you believe in other lives, Caleb?”

“My people tend not to-“

“This isn’t about your people, or my people...none of those people would acknowledge what we felt all these years. I’m asking if you believe in it.”

“I...I don’t know,” he said. “I believe in something greater, and that we had a part in making it? Why?”

“Because...perhaps its because I know I only have a few more minutes…” he said weakly. “But I know...deep in my heart and in the back of my mind, I know that I will see you again, and that I will love you again. And I’ll keep doing that in a never ending cycle...and I couldn’t ask for anything better.” 

Caleb wiped away his tears and kissed Tunar-Ji’s lips gently. 

“Lie with me…” he said. “I want to go the same way I lived my best life, in the arms of my one true love...of my soulmate…” 

Caleb got in the bed with him and held him. They were quiet for the last few moments, and when Caleb heard Tunar-Ji’s last heartbeat, he fished out the small vial of poison he had procured when Tunar-Ji fell sick and looked at him one last time. “You’re right...I will see you again.” And he opened the vial and drank it down, falling asleep one last time in the same bed.

** _T.J. + C_ **


	2. Ancient Greece

Calides should be paying attention to the lessons of his teacher. He knew that, the teacher knew that, everyone knew that, for the love of Hades himself, all of Athens knew that. But instead, he found his eyes wandering to the Olympic training grounds to see a tall boy, one who looked about his age, sixteen years old, discussing with his coach on proper discus throwing techniques. Calides eyes started studying each of the bulging muscles in his arm as he held the discuss out, and practiced the proper crouching position-

“Calides, perhaps you can explain the concept to the class?” His eyes snapped off the athlete and to his lesson master and he blushed. 

“Forgive me sir...my mind was occupied,” he said.

“I suggest you prevent it from wandering again. Pythagoras’s ideas on the calculations of triangles could be important to the future of mathematics, and if you do not understand it, how do you expect to pass these lessons on to the future boys of Athens.”

“Of course sir...apologies…” he looked down and the lesson master scoffed and continued his instruction. 

Though now it was the athlete who was staring at the students across the way, sitting around in the open air, learning all the new advances in mathematics. 

“Thodoris Jeno,” his coach interrupted his thoughts. “Would you rather be an athlete or learning trigonometry?” 

“No...no sorry,” he said. “You know I was not blessed by Lady Athena in that aspect,” he said. “The numbers dance around in my head, making me the only boy who can’t do arithmetic in Athens.”

“Then focus less on the numbers and focus on your skill. You have talent son...you’ll bring glory to our blessed city. You have the athletic wit of Lord Hermes and the precision of Lord Apollo. Do not let those gifts go to waste, boy.”

“Right...sorry…” he said, glancing quickly at the schoolboys again before going back to his discuss. The coach noticed.

“Something tells me that your eyes are not being led by Lady Athena, but rather by Lady Aphrodite,” he said. Thodoris Jeno blushed. 

“There’s just a boy who looks interesting to me,” he said. “I’ve seen him around in the marketplaces, and always scouting the front row of the amphitheater at every theatrical production.”

“Forget Lady Aphrodite, the arrow of Eros is lodged fully in your back,” he laughed. 

“You judge me too quickly, without even allowing me to explore it,” he said. 

“Invite him to the evening’s production of Oedipus,” his coach suggested. “It’s always an interesting show to discuss.”

“That’s…one way to put it, sir…”

“It’s what’s playing tonight! I didn’t choose it,” he said. “When the boys break their lessons for their meal, I’ll give you a few moments of a break to go talk to him. Will that bring your focus back to your training?” Thodoris Jeno nodded. “Good. Now show me again your technique, I think I know where to fine tune it for you.”

* * *

As promised, when the lesson took a break for a meal, Thodoris’s instructor let him get a rest and told him to go after the boy. Thodoris Jeno sprinted across the acropolis to find the boy whose eyes he kept catching, eventually finding him buying some bread and vegetables to eat, and before the boy could pay, he dropped some silver drachmas in the vendors hand. 

Thodoris smiled at him, and they both blushed a deep red. “I..uh...I see you at the school every day, and I wanted to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m Thodoris Jeno, house of Kasos.”

“An honor, you’re the discus thrower, right?” He asked. “I’m Calides, house of Georgios. You’re not the scholarly type?” He asked. 

“If Athena blessed me at all, it was for my athleticism and brawn,” he said. “But I’ve always been curious about you learned.”

“What else is there to learn?” Calides said, insisting on buying Thodoris some fruits before they both started walking away towards the middle point between the school and the gymnasium. “History, Philosophy, mathematics…”

“That last one is what make me sure I’d never be a scholar,” he said. “I can’t read numbers.”

“What do you mean? They’re like letters, aren’t they?”

“You would think so,” he said. “I can read endless books and poems, and even read music like it’s a second language. But the numbers swim around, dancing on a page and switching places before I can think of calculating them.”

“Well...maybe the numbers on the written page are hard for you,” Calides said slowly. “But throwing the discus requires a certain form of mathematics, but more towards those blessed with athleticism than with academic knowledge. I, for one, cannot run more than a few minutes before I lose all breath and fall to the floor with lack of precious air.” 

“Perhaps you need a new trainer,” he said. 

“And you a new tutor,” Calides replied with a shy smile. Thodoris wanted to spend days memorizing each wrinkle his smile made on his face, mapping why his face was far more beautiful than any statue of Aphrodite herself. Maybe his coach was right, Thodoris might have been hit with Eros’s arrow. Hell, he might have been hit with the full quiver. 

“Then I propose a trade,” he said. “I will train you to run with me, not too much to get you tired, just enough to get your heart beating faster, and you show me the lessons you’ve learned in the day?”

“You want to meet daily to trade this?” He asked with a small laugh and a smile. “I warn you, physically, there are many easy things that I can’t do.”

“Maybe you haven’t had the right teachers until now,” T.J. said. “And before we trade lessons, you could accompany me to tonight’s play at the amphitheater tonight?” 

“Oedipus Rex?” He asked. Thodoris shrugged. 

“Not the most ideal play to watch for a first outing,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to wait months for a new one to come out.”

“Then would you like to meet there?” Calides asked. 

“Nonsense,” he said. “If there are at least two things my mother taught me, it’s music and manners. Tell me where you live, and I’ll escort you to the play myself.”

“Honorable man,” Calides remarked, impressed. “Then I will see you before sundown. And we can start trading lessons tomorrow?’

“It’s a date.”

* * *

“Calides, it’s been two years,” Thodoris groaned, laying back on the grass. “That’s how long we’ve been best friends, right?” 

“Right,” he said. 

“And I’d like to say you’re a smart man.”

“Well, I am a scholar…”

“When are you going to learn that when Apollo blessed me with my athletic abilities, he accidentally made it so that numbers switch places in my head?”

“I believe that you have difficulties with numbers,” he said. “But I still believe that you’re smart enough to find a way to work around it. Or use it to an advantage. When I explain it in plain Greek.” 

Thodoris looked over at his best friend and sighed. There were still Eros’s arrows lodged in his heart, but over these two years that they had grown close, every time he had an opportunity to confess his true feelings, he was scared out. Sure men had loving relationships with other men, it was Athens after all, but it was still more common for men and women to be in relationships. Even the men who were in relationships with other men had wives most of the time. But Thodoris didn’t want a wife, he only wanted Calides. 

“Are you going to respond or just keep staring at me?” Calides asked him. 

“Good view,” he joked. “I say enough mathematics. Enough lessons, even!” He said. “It’s a wonderful day out, and we’re only young for so long!”

“We’re eighteen, we’re considered adults anyways,” he said. “Why do you want to run around like wild youths?”

“You don’t?” Thodoris asked. “Calides, you’re forgetting the joy it is to be young so soon!”

“I might not have had the same joy you did,” he said. “All the other boys my age were out flirting with local maidens, letting the girls weave flowers in their hair while they discussed the names of their future children…” 

Now was a chance! “You never did that?”

“No, the concept of courting girls never appealed to me. My nose was firmly in my studies. I suppose you had hoards of girls hanging off each of those muscular arms of yours,” he said with a small laugh. To Thodoris, he sounded like a tinkling bell. 

“No actually,” he said. “No women have caught my eyes….” he looked up into Calides’s big brown eyes and smiled. Something seemed to click in his mind when he saw Thodoris’s look and he started blushing, his hand sliding across the grass a little, closer to the man he considered a best friend, a man that always made his heart skip a couple of beats. 

“No women?”

“None at all,” Thodoris said, and smiled seeing the hand and moved his own closer. “I never found myself drawn to them…”

“Have you found yourself...draw...to anyone?”

“Just one,” he said, and both of their pinkies touched. “But that person is either oblivious or disinterested…”

“Probably...oblivious…” he said back. They kept eye contact throughout the whole interaction. 

Thodoris, bit his lip and looked down at their hands before looking back up to Calides, who simply nodded. He smiled and took his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

“You must have been really oblivious,” he said softly.

“Completely,” he said. “I thought you only liked women...you seemed like the type…” 

“I’m not…” he said. “Couldn’t be more disinterested.”

“So you’d be the type to never marry?” Calides asked. 

“No, why do you ask?” He asked. “Are you?” 

“No...I asked because I’m the type to be jealous,” he said. “And it’s refreshing to not worry about being jealous.”

“I’d never do anything to make you jealous, Calides…” he said, giving their hands a squeeze. Calides smiled and leaned in, and they both shared a sweet first kiss.

* * *

“Calides...you have to let go of me…”

“No,” he sniffed, his eyes still red and puffy. Both of them were twenty seven now, and had lived together since they were nineteen, and with Thodoris competing in the Olympic events and Calides soon becoming a playwright himself, both lived very happy lives...until this moment.

“Calides...I don’t have a choice…”

“You signed up for the drafts,” he said, pressing his face against Thodoris’s chest. 

“Every athletic male over the age of fifteen in Athens was forced to sign up for the drafts...I’m don’t wish to go either.”

“Then don’t…”

“If I don’t, the penalty by the king is death,” he said. “I’m due on the ship to Troy by midday.” Calides looked up at him with tears brimming in his eyes and Thodoris’s heart broke as he wiped the tears away with his thumb. “I’ll pray to Athena and Ares so that I’ll come back, because I can’t bear to be away from you.”

“I can’t believe you’re going to war over a woman,” he sniffed. “If she fell in love with Paris, why can’t everyone leave her alone.”

“You know why,” he said. “The pride of men will lead to their doom.”

“I just wish they didn’t take my man with them,” he said. “Do you really think you’ll come back?”

“We have Achilles on our side,” he said. “I’ll hide behind the invincible man while imagining the one waiting for me back here...the one that stayed with me to teach me mathematics and whose eyes light up when discussing philosophy...and the one who always squeezes my hand when we watch plays together, and who mouthed the words to his own play every time it’s performed,” he said with a smile. “The man I love.” 

“I love you too,” he said, kissing him. “This bed will feel so empty without you pressing against me.” 

“At least you won’t complain about the heat this summer,” he said with a little smile. “I’ll sail home on the first ship back, even if I have to hide in a barrel.” 

Calides let go of Thodoris and hugged his legs, pressing his face against the soft sheets covering them. Thodoris sighed and started getting dressed. As much as he hated admitting it, Calides thought he looked very handsome, even beautiful, in his armor. 

Thodoris knelt down to finish tying his sandal and looked up to see Calides’s face inches from his. “You don’t know how tempting it is for me to just stay here and hide from the king if it means never leaving your side,” he said. “But one calls for instant death...the other means a chance of coming back and growing old.”

Calides used all his force to knock him to the ground, kissing him with tear stained cheeks.

* * *

Every day he was gone, Calides wrote a letter. Whether that letter would go to Hades or in Thodoris’s hand when he came back he had no idea, but they had a signal. Thodoris left a letter on the ship. If the letter came back on the ship, it meant he was gone, and his last words were written down for Calides’s eyes only. If the letter didn’t come back, that meant that Thodoris did, and they still had years to go before either of them saw the Underworld.

What neither of them expected was for the war to last ten years. Ten years of Thodoris fighting off Trojans, and ten years of Calides coming home to an empty house with an empty bed, and yet another play of lovers separated by circumstances. Even the public was begging him to write at least one happy story. 

“Come on,” Basiane sighed. She was Calides’s best friend who bonded with him while her own husband was also off at war. “Write what you wish your reunion will be like,” she said. 

“If there is even a reunion,” he sighed. “Ten years…”

“No news has come,” she said. “No news is good news. If they were gone and the war was lost, then Troy would have come to boast.”

“The pride of men,” he cursed.

“You’re a man,” she reminded him. 

“Not like those.”

Of course, because the gods of irony enjoyed toying with him, right when he was about to give up hope for good to live a few more years as a miser, as many as he could bear, the warship returned. The instant he saw the sails over the cliffs, he ran over to the ports and stood there as each man in a different, battered state got off, all of them seemed unkempt and exhausted, and he even got scared when he didn’t see Achilles get off. 

But then, two men started getting off the boat. One being helped by the other. Basiane screamed and ran over to the injured man and kissed him deeply. Her husband had returned. Calides meanwhile was terrified to look at the last man’s face. It was his only hope...he couldn’t...it had to be…he couldn’t bear…

“I waited ten years to see brown eyes,” a slightly hoarse voice said, and tears immediately came. 

“And I waited ten years to see green ones,” he said, finally looking up with a smile. “I missed you like the moon misses her stars on a cloudy night, Thodoris Jeno.”

“And I missed you like the waves miss the breeze on a hot day, Calides, ” he said, and pulled him close to kiss him deeply, like he was starving for ten years, and he finally got to have his first meal.

* * *

“You shouldn’t lie to me Calides…” They were both much older now, their hair having lost all color and even going from grey to white as the fluffiest clouds in the sky. Thodoris sat by Calides’s side, his better half to weak to even lift an arm. 

“I’m not lying,” he said weakly. “I’m fine. I’m fine because I’m with you...and that means my life could not have been fuller than it was.”

“Being a playwright suited you,” he sniffed. “You always knew the right words to say...I can’t bear the thought of waking up without you anymore…”

“We’ll be reunited in the underworld my love...where we belong, together…” 

Thodoris smiled sadly. “Would you chose to be born again? If you thought we’d find each other again?”

“If you chose to be reborn as well, then I have no doubt in my mind that we’d find each other again, and again and again,” he said. “Because when the fates created our life lines, they spun our strings so that our souls would fit perfectly together forever.” He gave their intertwined hands a weak squeeze. “Just like how our hands fit perfectly together.” 

Thodoris decided to get in bed with him and hold him, like they held each other every night before he left for war and after he came back from it. “I know what Elysium is like because I know what life with you is like,” he said. “And I can’t wait to walk the unknown with you.”

“I love you, Thodoris,” Calides said weakly, his breath weakening and his heartbeats growing fainter. 

“I love you too, Calides…” he felt the light leave his body and hugged him tightly, letting a few tears slip. He rarely left the house after the funeral, and Thodoris soon joined his love in Hades two weeks later, his heart finally stopped beating after breaking for good.

** _T.J. + C_ **


	3. Ancient Rome

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!   
TW: Graphic Death scene at the end!

Titus Juventius adjusted the straps of his armor and stared at his own reflection. This was the same role as his father and his father’s father before him. His grandfather died for the glory that was Rome while his father was currently an official serving Empire. Both of his parents were proud of Titus, he was drafted into the army at 16, as was customary, and now he had to serve his dues and bring prosperity to Rome and all the world. He was going to be deployed to deal with the so called “Freedom Fighters.”

Those Freedom Fighters were only causing trouble, and the sooner they were quelled, the sooner Emperor Hadrian could go back to bettering the world, and if bloodshed was called for, then that’s what would be. So onwards to Judea he went, determined to bring his family more honor and make his father proud. 

“What do you know of these Jewish Freedom Fighters?” Titus asked one of his cohort members. 

“I’ve heard that they come in and poison soldiers’ food and drink so that’s why there’s always four soldiers guarding food storage,” he said. 

“Why do they hate Rome? Don’t they see we’re only trying to make the world better.”

“My father always says a bird never thinks about the wood that makes the birdhouse, only the loss of the tree,” he said. “Even if the birdhouse is nicer and better, the bird will always mourn the tree.”

Titus nodded. He wondered what the men were like in Judea. They kept sending for more and more men, so it must be a horrific sight waiting for him when he arrived.

Thankfully, however, the first night he spent in the encampment in Judea was filled with singing and merriment. His fellow Romans were praising each other on the job they did throughout the day. Titus had only arrived after sunset so other than a few men standing guard, there would be no more fighting until at the very least, the next sunrise. 

But when he went to go to sleep, he swore he saw someone ushering other people, smaller people, through the woods, their hushed voices speaking melodiously, but not in Latin. He would have warned the other officers, but he noticed that the voices all sounded young. Maybe just some children lost after a day playing in a creek? Regardless, he decided to turn around and go to sleep. He tried to ignore what he heard and saw, but one voice just kept sticking to his mind. 

* * *

He couldn’t look away from the horror. This was not what he was told. This was not what all his father’s colleagues said, what his father said, what the Roman higher ups were saying. There were Freedom Fighters, there were people with weapons fighting, but that was not what he was dealing with. He was not defending Rome. 

He was attacking innocents. 

He saw the same men that he drank with the last night, the same men he travelled with for days, they were killing everyone on sight. They were slaughtering the children, taking the women before killing them as well. That was not what an honorable soldier was! But it was what all the soldiers were doing. From the highest to the lowest ranks, that’s what they were doing. He wanted to leave, he wanted to stop them all, he wanted to...he didn’t even know what he wanted to do, but he wanted this to be done with. 

Then Titus saw him. It was another sixteen year old boy, with brown hair that curled slightly at the edges and big brown eyes, skirting around the fields of vision of most of the soldiers. He was holding two children by the hands then pushing them through the bushes, whispering to them rapidly in that different language. Titus’s eyes widened. That voice…that was the voice he heard last night.

He stood there frozen. His orders were to grab any rebels and either bring them to his captain, or kill them. Yet this boy was saving children, getting them out of the bloodshed and then going back to do it again. He saw the boy deftly weave through. He wasn’t fast, but he was smart. 

And unfortunately, he was short-sighted, because Titus saw soldiers coming in the direction he was, and he grabbed him by the arm from behind and put a hand over his mouth. The boy started to scream until Titus hushed him. “Unless you want us both caught, wait a moment.”

The boy hummed confused and saw a group of five soldiers pass by, their swords drawn. Once they passed, Titus let go of the boy and stepped back. The boy looks like he is shaken. Titus doesn't really blame him, it's hard not to be scared surrounded by burning buildings and violence. But what Titus didn't get was why the boy was risking his own safety for the safety of others. Another thing he didn't quite understand was why he felt a pull towards the boy, not to harm him, though. He just needed to talk to him.

The boy spun around and nervously point a rough dagger as Titus. The boy choked out "i... I know how to use this...please just go…" Titus couldn't help but notice the terror that filled the browns eye looking up at him. Suddenly the guilt he was feeling, doubles in size. It killed him think that this stranger was afraid of him. 

Titus whispers, as to not frighten the boy more, "No, please don't be scared...I...um want to help you."

"Why would I believe that a solider for the empire trying to kill myself and my people would want to help me?”

Titus looks down. "You're right. You shouldn't trust me...but I swear no lies...I want to help..."

"Why would you want to do that?" The boy’s voice softens, still cautious. 

“Because I was lied to,” he said. “I was told you were killing us for no reason...for wanting to destroy the Empire by shrinking it. I did not sign up to kill innocents.”

“Why should I believe you?” He asked. “I don’t even know you.”

“TItus Juventius, first of my name, citizen of Rome Proper...traitor to the Empire.”

“You don’t look like a traitor,” he said. 

Titus threw down his helmet and removed the emblems from his shield armor. “I am now. I was trained with all weapons and I can tell you that my gladius is better for protection than your dagger,” he said, holding the hilt out to him. “Boy of mystery…”

“Your people would call me Cyrus,” he said, taking the weapon and holding it away. He still didn’t trust him, but at least now he was unarmed.

“Your people wouldn’t,” he said. “What is the name your mother gave you?”

“My mother is dead thanks to your armies,” he spat. “My father too.”

“Then tell me your true name and take me as a willing prisoner,” he said. “I’ve already surrendered all my weapons and renounced my Emperor.”

“My work isn’t done…” he said. 

“If you want to live another day and save another village, it’ll have to be,” he said quietly. “I know plans now. They will light all the explosive reserves as they leave, and they’re leaving just after midday,” he pointed up at the sun, which was almost dead center in the sky. I know the paths they’ll take, and where they’ll go.”

Cyrus looked. “You really renounce the Empire?” Tutus nodded. “Then walk in front, and I’m holding onto your weapon.”

* * *

“Your real name would be in Hebrew, wouldn’t it?” Titus asked. They were both sitting in a camp that they made between villages, eating the small rations they had, though Titus struggled slightly because he had his hands tied together. 

“Yes, though most soldiers don’t like it when we speak it,” he said. “They think we’re conspiring every time we use it.”

“Who would you even conspire with right now? That’ squirrel?” He asked, gesturing to the tree next to him. “Besides, my father had me learn Greek, saying another language is always an advantage, and just Latin alone is asking the enemy to corner you.”

“My language is my connection to my people, not strategy,” he said. “I don’t think you’ll ever understand that.”

“You’re right,” he said. “I won’t...but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to learn…” 

Cyrus looked down, focusing on properly packing his food. “My name is Koresh.”

Titus smiled. “Well Koresh, perhaps we have a lot to learn from each other.”

His head snapped up and frowned. “And what would I learn from you, Roman?” 

“Well...for starters…” he gave his wrists a small shake and watched the rope easily come undone and fall into his lap and he grabbed a cup for a drink of water. “How to properly restrain your prisoners wouldn’t be a bad first lesson…”

* * *

“Koresh...come on…”

“What?” He snapped slightly. “What do you want Titus?”

“We’ve been working together for how long?” He asked gently. He no longer wore his armor unless they planned on Titus infiltrating the camps, which he did on occasion. 

“Five months,” he said. 

“And you still don’t trust me?”

Koresh sighed and looked down. “I do trust you when we’re helping people.”

“You just don’t trust me otherwise,” he said. “I’m learning your language, even though it’s hard for me and yet you always step back whenever I come close and you close yourself off whenever I touch you. Do you still think I’m going to hurt you?” 

“...that’s not what’s going on Titus…”

“Then what is?”

“It’s hard to explain…”

“Koresh, why can’t you be honest with me?”

“Titus...it’s not as simple…”

“What’s not simple about it? We’ve been working together, camping together, talking and I’ve been letting you into my life more and more, and you seem to allow it until something snaps and then you pull away harshly!”

“Because I can’t love you!” He finally shouted. Titus stopped and stared at him. 

“What?”

“I mean…I just…” he sighed. “I feel for you the way I’ve seen other men love their wives. Love between men in our beliefs...it’s not acceptable...not like how you Romans do.”

“It’s not like you think for Romans,” Titus said. “And I know how you’re struggling...I struggle too.”

“It’s more!” He said. “Romans allow men to...enjoy each other under limits. We do not.”

“Love between men isn’t forbidden,” Titus said. “I’ve seen it.”

“Love in friendship,” he said. “Not...not the way I feel for you...the way I hope you feel about me...I don’t know…” he said, sniffing. 

Titus looked shocked, but took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “What you feel is valid of attention,” he said. “And honestly a relief because I’ve been feeling the same way.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” he mumbled. 

“I’m not...I’m being honest,” he said. 

“What about...what about society? And what our societies believe?” He asked. 

“What about them?” He said. “We don’t have to worry about what our relationship is like, formally, I suggest that we just...stay together, and we only do what makes us happy, how we please,” he said. “What do you say?”

“Just...go as we please? No societies or religions getting in our way? You’re not afraid?”

“Koresh...I’m always afraid,” he said. “But I prefer ignoring all my fears whenever you’re here so I can pay more attention to you.”

* * *

Four more months is not a bad run for being happy. Four more months of a sort of domestic bliss suited the two. They moved their camp around often, and each time their sleeping positions drifted closer until they woke up one day holding each other, and after a few moments of awkwardness, they willingly slid into each other’s arms at the end of the night. But at the end of those four months, Titus could read it on Koresh’s face as plain as day. 

“You want to go back, don’t you?” 

“Want is not the right word, Titus,” he said. “I need to. There are still families under the Empire facing danger daily for simply living on their land,” he said. “We need to get them out...give room for the fighters to try and push the armies back…”

“Koresh…”

“I know, we finally got most of them out and we’re safe for the most part and most children have parents and we have a chance of moving onwards to a new safe place…”

“Koresh…”

“But the people still out there! We can’t just give up on them! They deserve us to at the very least try!”

“Koresh, darling, will you stop talking or will I have to plan out the route by myself?” He asked. The campsite was already packed up and Titus was sitting with a map. 

“You really do know me,” he sniffed happily and hugged him around the neck. 

* * *

They left not even an hour later and arrived just before nightfall. 

“You understand the plan?” Titus nodded. “Go and try to keep them away. Children are the priority, then the women, and lastly men. It’s better to arm them so they can fight back.” 

“You need to keep quiet,” Titus warned. “Soldiers can be quiet.”

He nodded and they squeezed each other’s hands, but right before they were about to separate, Koresh pulled Titus down and pressed a soft kiss against his lips. 

“Kor…”

“Just a small token,” he said. “Come back alive for more.” 

Titus smiled and nodded, letting their hands drop before he left for the soldier encampments. He smiled at the memory at the kiss, but he froze when he saw a soldier grab Koresh, another quickly grabbing him and forcing him on his knees. 

“NO!” He grabbed his gladius and went to save him but he was stopped from behind, and gasped at the sharp pain coming through his chest. He heard Koresh scream and wanted to move forward but was thrown to the ground. The Roman behind him shook his blade, covered in Titus’s blood. Titus’s vision was fading and he saw Koresh yank himself free and take his hand. “I...love you…”

“I...I love you too…” he said crying, not caring about the edges of his clothes getting soaked in blood. Titus saw some tears spill from his eyes and saw him quickly switch from Hebrew to Latin. “Just do it. I won’t fight anymore.” 

The last thing Titus saw was a soldier steady the gladius on the exposed neck of Koresh’s hung head before raising the sword and starting to bring it down hard.

** _T.J. + C_ **


	4. Medieval Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Lots of religious talk (but happier ending)

“Thelonious, you have really lost your mind,” his sister Amelia said. “You are pursuing a friendship with the son of the tax collector?”

Thelonious James sighed and plucked at his lute. “He’s a nice boy, and the only other sixteen year old for miles. He’s also the only one who doesn’t treat us as something...unattainable. Like we come down from God himself.”

“We are the King’s bards,” she said. “We are members of his court.”

“On the same level as the jester!” He said. “We just sing rather than joke. The tax collector and his son come up to the castle because they do their service to the king.”

“But they are not members of the court,” she said. “I’m not saying you should never speak to him again, but pursuing anything other than exchanging pleasantries will be detrimental to you. The tax collector and his family are considered undesirables. Besides, your time spent with him is less time you have to find a wife.”

“I’ve told you before, I have no intention of finding a wife,” he said. “Plenty of men never marry.”

“And there are rumors surrounding those men,” Amelia said. 

“I care not for those rumors, sister,” he sighed. “Mortals may whisper, but only the Lord passes judgement,” he said. “Those who gossip might face God himself trusting the rumors about them rather than the merits of their own hearts and sounds. Besides, many men have friendships, it shall be different between me and the boy Cyrano.”

* * *

“If your father never wanted to be a tax collector,” Thelonious asked his friend. “Why is he one?” 

“It is one of the few jobs we’re permitted to do in society,” Cyrano responded. The two were having a picnic by the riverbanks. “Collecting taxes is seen as sinful, and my father and I are considered to be more...civilized members of “the devil’s court.” So a job must be done and we’re the only ones willing to do it.”

“Why are you considering a consort of the devil? You aren’t really, are you?”

“Of course not,“ Cyrano said, plucking an apple from a tree and eating it. “It’s because I wasn’t born in a church of Christ.”

“You weren’t born under a church?”

“Thelonious James, you must be the last man in all these lands to know what kind of man I am,” he said with a sad smile. “Now that you’ll know, I’ll have lost my only friend.”

“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps not. I am one of the few who believe that a man’s relationship to God can only be judged by God himself, and not by the petty men on earth or some man in Rome in a funny hat.”

Cyrano laughed a little. “Don’t tell me you believe me to be your equal? Even if I am a Jew?”

Thelonious shrugged. “My mother taught me that Moses and the Hebrews that God freed from bondage were Jews, were they not? And don’t tell me you believe to be lesser than me?”

“I’ve seen you do arithmetic, Thelonious, I know for sure that I am not lesser than you,” Cyrano teased. “But that is what our texts say about the Hebrews. But Catholics blame all of us Jews for the death of your savior.”

“The savior born of your faith,” he said. “And even if your ancestors turned him in, the Romans were the executioners, and where does that fancy hat Pope sit?”

Cyrano was crying of laughter at this point, and Thelonious thought he could never compose a melody as beautiful as that giggle. “You’re not only a bard, but a poet and a jester.” 

“Don’t tell the king that,” he laughed. “He'll send his jester home and force me into more work! Then I’ll surely never see you again.”

“Now that would be a tragedy,” she said. “I’d never laugh again.”

“The real tragedy would be the world’s loss of your laughter.”

“Are you this lyrical towards your female companions that you wish to court?” 

“I have no female companions,” Thelonious said. “Women are of no interest to me. I intend to never marry.”

“You don’t worry about the whispers people will share should you remain chaste?” Cyrano asked worriedly.

“Let them whisper!” Thelonious scoffed. “You should like my sister! The king is wiser than to listen to the silly rumors of people with nothing better to do. And several kingdoms have praised my musical abilities whenever he hosts balls. I have the highest job security in the land. I could be acquitted of murder if I wish!”

“Continue the speech and I’ll beg you to make it my murder,” Cyrano laughed. 

“And this is why you’re my friend,” he said smiling, plucking a few strings of his lute.

* * *

“You really committed Thelonious,” Cyrano said. They were twenty three now, and walking along the streets of the village together. “All this time and you still haven’t married.”

“And you’re now the tax collector,” he said. “Did you expect that?”

“Not in the slightest,” Cyrano said. “I have a bit of a confession, a secret if I may divulge to you.”

“Pray tell, friend, tell your secrets.”

“I’ve taken up a pen name,” he said. “William Cornysh, and I’ve started writing plays.”

“You’re the new playwright everyone has been chattering about?” Thelonious said impressed. “And here I thought the muses had only inspired me alone in our friendship.”

“Perhaps some of your muses are rubbing off on me,” Cyrano said. “Every conversation we have, at least three new scenes appear in my head as guided by God’s light.” 

“God’s light is also giving you an ego with it, is it not?” Thelonious said. 

“Thelonious, enough jesting,” he said with a laugh. “I’m serious. Every conversation we have gives me new inspiration, and now I want to talk to you daily.”

“Ah, motivation to see a good friend,” he chuckled, going into the small house Cyrano lived in and sitting in a chair by the fire. “At least I now have a guarantee that you won’t tire of me.”

“Well...that’s the second part of the confession,” he said slowly. “Thelonious...I’ve prayed and prayed over this, to both my version of God and in desperation, even yours...but…” he took a deep breath. “My inspiration from you...it takes the form of love scenes...I just change the name from yours to a woman’s…” He couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes and Thelonious stood up and in front of Cyrano. 

“Do you...do you feel for me Cyrano?” 

“I’m afraid that perhaps I do…” he said quietly. Thelonious thought and sighed. 

“And you finally understand my love ballads…” 

Cyrano’s eyes snapped up to him. “Do...do you mean it?”

“Why do you think I insisted so much on never marrying...so that I never make a woman face the rumors of a sinful husband…”

“So the rumors surrounded around men like you...men like us…” Cyrano said. “They’re true.” 

“At least for me...and for you?” He said. They both were afraid of taking another step closer, like there was a fine curtain between them, and if either of them moved that curtain, nobody knew what would happen. 

Cyrano nodded. “How...how strict is your Bible on men sharing this sort of love?”

“It’s frowned on by the Pope,” he said slowly. “And yours?”

“Forbidden...by punishment of the people…”

“So...what does it mean now?” Thelonious asked. 

“Do you think God would really have me love someone like you for the purpose to hate me?”

“According to the petty people on the planet and the silly hatted Pope,” Thelonious said. “You’d be a temptation from the Devil…” 

“Do you really think that?” Cyrano’s heart started to sink down to his stomach.

“You want to know what I think?” Thelonious said. “I think that the Devil could not produce something as pure as you with the capability of your love...and that if God really punishes me for this...I would rather be true to myself in Hell than be miserable inside in Heaven.”

“And if we’re tried as heretics?” Cyrano asked, slowly getting bolder and moving closer. 

“Then let them find me guilty and filled with sin,” he said. “Because if you chose to come with me...I’ll even make our own pyres in hell our personal corner of heaven.”

That’s when they both yanked that invisible curtain away and simultaneously leaned in to hold and kiss each other, stumbling around like they finally lit the fire inside of them, a fire desperate to burn and that could not be put out. They started running hot and the jackets were shed, and soon...it wasn’t just the jackets.

* * *

“Well, dear friend,” an old and gray playwright laid in bed alongside the king’s most accomplished bard. “We seem to have evaded suspicion this long…” he laughed a little. 

“After all these years, I’m still a dear friend?” Thelonious joked lightly before coughing and hacking. 

“If God and society permitted me to call you a husband, I would,” Cyrano replied gently, getting weaker. 

“We are both nearing the end, my love...why not call each other husband. At this point, what do we have to lose?”

“Well then…” he chuckled. “My husband, is there anything you would change?” 

“Just one…” Thelonious said. “I would change our religious texts and histories so that we could be accepted and get married, for surely we weren’t the only ones.” 

Cyrano took his hand and brought it up to his lips, kissing it weakly. “If only we could choose to leave together.”

“Well,” Thelonious said. “Should you be first to go, my heart will break into so many pieces that I might die of that pain alone not shortly after.”

“Then I will hold you,” Cyrano said. “And you will hold me...and we will kiss again...and close our eyes and rest, and perhaps we will finally achieve blissful rest. And whoever finds our mortal bodies once our souls are gone...what are they going to do then, our fates will already have been sealed in our afterlives.”

“And if they desecrate our bodies?” 

“That will speak more of their character than ours,” he said. “Thelonious James, a sodomite who lied with a Jewish man...all that’s left is for you to call upon the devil himself for the propaganda to write itself.”

“They will probably lie,” he said. “And say we did, Cyrano. And I doubt God will look kindly upon those who spread such vile falsehoods.” 

Cyrano started coughing and hacking again. 

“My love, my husband, rest now...in my arms forevermore,” Thelonious said. The two looked at each other with soft, sweet smiles, and shared one last kiss before they closed their eyes and laid back.

** _T.J. + C_ **

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please comment if you read this at all!! Please! Kudos are not an accurate way of me being able to tell who’s reading and how many! Comments are the only way. Plus, they warm my cold little heart, dead from the lack of Andi Mack on T.V. And try to guess when and where T.J. and C. will meet next! Who knows? You might be right, or inspire me to add another place on the list!!!


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